


I Think We're Alone Now

by The_Magic_Rat



Series: I Think We’re Alone Now [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2020-12-12 05:40:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20998061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Magic_Rat/pseuds/The_Magic_Rat
Summary: Something wicked this way comes. Crowley and Aziraphale are looking forward to starting their life together in peace, but something just won't leave them alone.





	1. Chapter 1

_ **Good Omens – I Think We’re Alone Now.** _

_ **Author: The Magic Rat  
Rating: PG13  
Pairings: Crowley/Aziraphale  
Warnings: Sex, violence, nuns.  
Word Count: 6356** _

_ **Website – Ex Libris: http://www.winter-wood.net/ex-libris/index.html  
Live Journal: http://delaese.livejournal.com/profile** _

_ **Disclaimer: All Good Omens characters, places and situations are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchet, and are used without permission and without intent of plagiarism or profit. Copyright for all stories and original characters is with the author, and may not be published, copied, distributed or archived without the author's prior written consent.** _

_ **Summary: Something wicked this way comes.** _

_ **Author’s notes: Getting back into the swing of writing again after a very long bout of depression.** _

~*~*~*~*~*~

Aziraphale turned off the bathroom light and walked into the adjoining bedroom, wearing his night shirt and cap. He approached the bed, feeling rather shy and a bit nervous. Crowley was right, of course; after what they had done chances were very good they would be left alone, but still he worried. He was now living with a demon, and somebody at some point would not be able to resist the urge to butt in. However, for now... there was peace. And his very first night with his oldest friend and newly-minted lover. This was so exciting. And scary.

He briefly considered the lean body already in the bed; the long pale back with the incredibly detailed tattoo of a serpent following the spine. He winced inwardly as he carefully climbed under the covers. Tattoos looked so painful. He settled into the deep, decadently soft mattress, and continued to gaze at Crowley’s back. The only word that came to mind was “delicate”. His bones were so fine, the skin almost like parchment. He was so lovely, like the most fragile of porcelain. A demon shouldn’t be so lovely. Carefully, almost without thinking, he reached out to trail his fingertips along the dainty bird-bones of his ribs...

Crowley made a most un-demonic squeaking-sputtering noise and jumped, turning his head to glower at his companion. Aziraphale blinked back in surprise.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Crowley glared a moment longer, then burrowed under the covers, head and all. Aziraphale chuckled. 

“I did say I was sorry I startled you, I didn’t think you were...” Slowly it dawned on Aziraphale that...what he heard was not surprise. It was indignation. He narrowed his eyes and smiled. Oh could it be his dearest friend was ticklish?

The lump shifted, seeming to read the thought. “Angel – don’t you fucking dare.”

Aziraphale fucking dared, making straight for the ribs with both sets of fingers. Crowley screamed. 

“THAT’S it, you’re done for now.”

It was their very first night together, and both were exhausted from the events that had transpired. But suddenly there were pillows and fingers flying as if they were two little mortal boys at a sleep over. Aziraphale tickled mercilessly as Crowley clobbered him with pillows. There was so much noise that a neighbour pounded on the door to tell them to keep it down. Crowley must have done something in response because suddenly there was a scream and the sound of running feet. Crowley was not having his first ever pillow-and-tickle fight ruined by some pissed-off mortal.

Eventually they collapsed, nose to nose, panting, giggling. Slowly Aziraphale became serious, and he gazed into the serpent eyes.

“I am so sorry, Crowley. I hope you can forgive me.”

“For what?”

“For... neglecting your feelings for so long. Denying I knew you and such. It wasn’t kind. I knew how you felt, I just... was afraid.”

“Angel...”

“No please let me speak. I owe you an explanation. You see, you’re the only real friend I ever had. My best friend. I was afraid that if I let my feelings go further... I may somehow lose you. I couldn’t bear the thought. Then I nearly did anyway. So permit me to say...I do love you. You are my best friend. I’ve been with you such a long time. You’re my sunshine...”

“That’s Queen.”

“I thought it sounded familiar.”

Crowley gazed at him. “It did hurt,” he admitted very softly, as if he feared being heard. “But I felt I somehow deserved it, to love and not be loved in return. As long as I had you near, I was happy enough.”

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hands between his own. “I am here now and for always. And I’m going to do something I should have done a long time ago. Probably badly.”

Crowley waited in trepidation. Aziraphale could be pretty random at times, but then he felt the soft pressing of lips against his own, and relaxed. For a moment he honestly had a flash of worry that his Angel was going to redo his attempt at a Lady Gaga impersonation. This was much better.

Sex was easily as much fun as the pillow fight. Aziraphale had no idea what he was doing, and there was much giggling, snorting, and laughing as the angel figured it out. Fortunately he was a fast learner, and before too long they had settled into a slightly awkward but very pleasurable embrace.

“I’m not too heavy for you, am I?” asked Aziraphale.

Crowley gently nipped him. “Light as a cloud.”

“Because you’re awfully delicate.”

“Scrawny.”

“Fragile and precious, like a cherry blossom. But less pink.”

“Well no one ever sees a pink demon because all the other demons tease them.”

“We really stink at pillow talk,” mused Aziraphale.

“Then let’s not talk.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Slowly they settled into life together. Aziraphale set up spaces for himself in what had once been Crowley’s home, now their home. Barren rooms became filled with books and antiques, fine art and rare trinkets. Crowley had a fondness for Art Deco, so Aziraphale carefully decorated Crowley’s spaces with elegant art and furnishings from the time period. Over time the spaces overlapped, and soon there were no more Aziraphale spaces or Crowley spaces. There was just Home. 

“Let’s take a cooking class,” said Aziraphale one night as the pair cuddled on a Queen Anne love seat.

“Good grief why?”

“Lots of couples do things together. It’ll be fun.”

“No it won’t.”

“And then after we take a cooking class, we can learn glass blowing.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Hot molten glass, great furnaces spewing heat, potential for catastrophe somewhat high... I could get into that.”

“Then you’ll take the class with me?”

Crowley gave him that odd toothy smile he had when he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about something. “Yeah why not. Hot stoves, sharp knives, boiling substances...”

“That’s the spirit, dear.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

The first few classes were to take place in an enormous outdoor garden, where they would learn about herbs. Crowley perked up visibly at the sight of all the wonderful plants, some of which were unknown even to him. Of course there was also the chance to engage in his ever-favourite pastime; mortifying his lover. Crowley peered invasively close at a flowering sage.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” he asked the quivering herb.

Aziraphale stood among his new classmates and tried to pretend he had no idea who Crowley was. This was not easy; they’d all seen him get out of the Bentley and give his darling a kiss.

“And now you live with him, don’t you?” said a tall woman in a floral dress.

“Yes, well, he tricked me. He said he liked me.”

Crowley was ignoring the lot of them. “I’m sure I know you too,” he said to a lemon balm. He then leapt back like a cat from a spray bottle as he noticed the herb beside it was Ocimum Tenuiflorum, commonly known as holy basil. Crowley gave himself a shake, preened for a moment, then walked back to Aziraphale in the slinky, snaky, hip-and-shoulder way that made Aziraphale want to...

Lust was such an inconvenient sensation.

“Miss me?” purred Crowley.

“No the whole class caught the performance,” said Aziraphale.

“And yet you love me.”

“I adore you.”

A few of their classmates melted. A few definitely didn’t. Crowley didn’t care, moving close to his angel. 

The class so far was fun and easy; learning about unusual culinary herbs such as French Lavender and Sorrel. There was a lot of nibbling fragrant and sweet leaves, and lunch was white wine and several sorts of exotic salads to keep everyone in the mood. Aziraphale was beyond content. Crowley was Crowley, sniffing suspiciously at his glass.

“What is this?”

The instructor was rapidly running out of patience for this lunatic. “It is a perfectly lovely and quite palatable white.”

Crowley scowled in disagreement, tossed the contents of his glass over his shoulder, and somehow managed to produce a bottle of 1811 Chateau d'Yquem, valued at a mere $117,000. Eyes bulged and jaws dropped. 

“Anybody care for a taste of real wine?” Crowley asked.

The serviceable store-bought went to the plants as glasses were held forth. Aziraphale glanced to the seething instructor. Yup. She hated him. Well, not everyone saw the charm in demons.

It was after lunch that things began to go south. Aziraphale was examining a beautiful bay laurel tree, when he had a funny feeling he was being watched. He glanced for Crowley, but he was over by the cinnamon tree, learning to carefully cut the bark that would produce the spice without harming the plant. He then looked behind himself, and saw his two least favourite angels; Gabriel and Michael.

“What are you doing?” Michael asked, the tone of voice implying Aziraphale was some sort of exhausting moron. Aziraphale rose to his full height, trying to look dignified.

“If you must know, I am taking a cooking class. Because it is fun. And didn’t I ask you pair to leave us alone?”

Gabriel leaned forward and sniffed. “Good Heavens, that stink IS you!”

“What stink?!” demanded Aziraphale.

“Can’t you smell it? You reek!”

Aziraphale did not believe for a moment that he smelled bad, but it never hurt to check. He sniffed his sleeve. Nope. Smelled like Coat. Then he sniffed his wrist...

Oh yes there was a bit of an odor, wasn’t there? His usual angel-smell, mingled with something darker, more exotic. Sweet musk, with the softest hint of brimstone, and undertones of something very primal and earthy. It smelled of Crowley, after they’d finished making love. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, relishing the scent. Then he lowered his arm.

“I don’t smell anything dreadful at all. I think you are both just jealous.”

“Of what?” demanded Gabriel. Michael stepped forward, voice lowered to a discreet pitch.

“Are you honestly copulating with that thing?”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale sharply. “Yes I am, and if you will forgive my language, every damn chance I get. We do it as two boys or two girls or a boy and a girl, and just last night we tried something only gastropods can manage. Our preference is as two boys. I suppose because that’s how we see ourselves after 6000 years in these bodies. But I love him and he loves me and we have asked you to leave us ALONE.”

Michael and Gabriel were not yet done being offended. Michael seemed to have accidentally ingested lemon-covered shit, and Gabriel was just horrified.

“You...copulated...?”

“We made love.”

“How could you do that?!” demanded Gabriel. 

Aziraphale's jaw dropped and his eyes became large. “I’m not telling you that! Go get your own demon if you wish to know so badly! Ask Beelzebub. In the mean time, I’m going back to my class.”

“That is not what I meant, you perverted little hobbit,” growled Gabriel.

“Well how should I know what you mean? You’re the one coming into my shop all the time and demanding pornography.”

Aziraphale walked into the depths of the garden, trying not to be upset. It was difficult, however. He could not imagine even thinking half the things that came out of Gabriel’s mouth. They were angels! They were the good guys! At least they were supposed to be. He swore there was more love and compassion in Crowley’s sunglasses than there was in Gabriel’s whole body.

He walked over to juniper tree, looking at the beautiful blue berries clustered on its branches. He sniffed and wiped quickly at his eyes. Why were Gabriel and Michael so horrible? He and Crowley had done nothing to anyone. All they wanted was to just be together. What was so wrong about that?

“Are you all right?” asked a quiet voice. Aziraphale wiped his eyes once more, then turned to see the tall woman in the floral dress. She was holding a hand out to him. 

“I’m Azalea.”

“Hello, Azalea, I’m Aziraphale.”

“Who were those two goons?”

Aziraphale preened a little, trying to get himself under control. “Just some...people from work who don’t approve of my life choices. I can’t seem to convince them that it’s none of their business who I love.”

In the distance, they heard the exasperated instructor shout “Mr. Crowley I am quite certain you never met that fern in a piano bar!”

Aziraphale laughed, as Azalea smiled. “How did you meet him?”

Aziraphale glanced up at her. She seemed genuinely kind. He would love to pour his heart out to her, but the whole truth was probably not wise.

“In a beautiful garden. He was...climbing an apple tree. The garden is no more, sadly. We became friends, then best friends, then...one day we realized we were in love. It’s been a very odd journey and not an easy one. But I would not break his heart for the likes of...” he gestured to where he supposed Gabriel and Michael to be. “Those two.”

“He does seem to be a handful.”

Aziraphale shrugged a little. “Yes I suppose he is, but it’s his nature. I could never ask him to change.”

They walked back to the main group, finding Crowley gazing up at an apple tree. Beside him was one of the youngest class mates; a girl of about 15 named Alyssa. The gist of their conversation seemed to be that she needed apples, but the previous classes had cleared out the ones that were reachable. And she definitely was not tall enough to get the ones on the higher branches.

Aziraphale watched as the Serpent of the Garden climbed the tree with an ease that made his heart catch. He made his way very far up, and began tossing apples down to his class mates. Once they had enough, he began slowly making his way down, almost slithering. He was showing off of course. Aziraphale approached the tree, and could not stop a laugh as Crowley slowly descended before him, Spiderman style. He was supporting himself in the tree with his legs, holding an apple out to his lover with one hand.

“Can I tempt you?”

Aziraphale found a small spot of meanness deep in his heart that desperately hoped Gabriel and Michael were watching as he closed his eyes and bit the apple. 

“That is fantastic,” said Aziraphale, chewing.

“They are good, aren’t they?”

There were little gasps as Crowley lowered himself from the tree in a manner that just... was not quite human. A little too genuinely serpentine. Aziraphale was too busy focusing on the apple to notice. Then a thought crossed his mind. 

“Oh! I forgot to collect the tarragon. Back in a moment.”

Aziraphale went off to get the herbs, while Crowley slowly devoured his apple. Eventually he realized he was being watched. He looked at his classmates, all who were staring at him, trying to understand how exactly he made his way out of the tree.

“How did you do that?” asked Alyssa.

“I just bit the apple and chewed.”

“Not that. How did you get out of the tree that way?”

“Oh. I come from a long line of...snake charmers.”

Aziraphale found the tarragon and began carefully selecting bits for their recipe. Once he had enough, he rose to his feet, and was about to go back to the group, when he realized with a rush of cold horror that he was not alone. He was surrounded by a group of five elder demons; true horrors of the ancient world, with faces in their stomachs, horns, claws, hooves, heads of goats and pointed tails. Aziraphale froze, wondering how these monsters could be standing in a culinary garden. Elder demons like these did not just show up. They had to be summoned, and for a purpose. Who managed to summon not just one but FIVE?

“Crowley...” he said in a very small voice, his eyes large. He cleared his throat was was about to try calling his lover again, when one of the monsters swaggered close. It was made of dismembered animal parts, and stank of death. The face in its stomach made lewd and disgusting overtures. 

“So here is the angel Aziraphale,” it said. “So lovely he enticed a demon to his hand. I expected something more impressive.”

Aziraphale tried to back up, but there were shrubs and fencing behind him. He tried to call for Crowley again, but the fear, not to mention the stench, had a stranglehold on him. A second demon approached, this one crawling with parasites.

“What’s the matter, little birdie? Are you scared? Oh, don’t be afraid. We just want a little taste of what you’ve been giving Crowley.”

“I assure you, that will never happen,” said Aziraphale. 

“We’re not asking, little birdie,” said one of the secondary heads.

Aziraphale fought his fear, trying to think. Demons of this ilk did not walk the earth. They had to be summoned, or commanded by Satan himself to go forth. He couldn’t imagine Satan wasting this sort of firepower on one chubby angel for...

Oh well there was that thing with Adam, wasn’t there? Maybe Satan did send them. He and Crowley had each managed to tick off a fair number of denizens on both sides of the fence. Maybe Satan was mad enough he sent five elder demons to utterly destroy Aziraphale physically and thus destroy Crowley mentally. He was such a sensitive little soul...

Leaves and earth sprayed as the demons attacked. Aziraphale was suddenly on the ground, being clawed and bitten and chewed. He managed to scream out part of a prayer, and three of the monsters fell back, shrieking. That left two, one of whom was so enraged by the prayer that he punched Aziraphale hard enough to daze him. The three other demons returned to resume the attack; biting, clawing, ripping. Despite the implied threat of rape, they actually seemed far more interested in devouring him alive...

Someone must have wondered where Aziraphale was and come looking for him, because suddenly there was a shriek of pure horror. People came running from all over as Aziraphale battled weakly with the demons. Then...the gates of Hell opened and Crowley came through, but not in his human form; he was a tremendous black and red serpent with enormous black wings. He landed on one demon, and constricted it so forcefully that it vomited out its entrails through its secondary stomach-head. He threw it aside, then sprayed venom into the face of another demon, melting its face from its skull. Two demons down, three to go. They turned on Crowley, and Aziraphale felt hands drag him to safety. 

“I have to help him,” he said weakly, trying to stand.

Gentle hands restrained him as the four demons fought with all the stomach-turning savagery of their kind. Crowley screamed as one of his wings was bitten so hard that the bones broke, and Aziraphale managed to get to his feet. He looked around, and noticed a hose, leaking a small amount of water. He wet his hands with the water, blessing it as he did so, then deftly smeared it across the back of one demon’s head. The holy water ate through the skull like acid, and within seconds the demon was dead. Two remaining. 

The fight was vicious and far too fast moving for Aziraphale to risk a second wetting. Claws, talons, hooves, fangs and horns inflicted ghastly amounts of damage, and Aziraphale could see Crowley was tiring. There was a horrific crunch, and Crowley screamed, changing back to his human form abruptly as he was struck a second time. He was not winning this fight. Right. One chubby hobbit-angel to the rescue.

He grabbed up a clot of earth in his left hand and managed to brain one demon with it. Infuriated, it lunged for Aziraphale, who flung a few remaining drips of water from his fingers on the right hand. It was too little to kill the thing, but it certainly sent it scampering back to Hell. He looked to Crowley, and saw the fight was over. Crowley had done something to kill his adversary, but had taken enormous damage. As Aziraphale watched, Crowley staggered, then fell, dropping to the ground. He hit like a sack of sand; heavy and lifeless. The iconic black glasses fell from the staring serpent eyes, and his one undamaged wing flapped slowly and rhythmicly. 

“Angel?” he managed to whisper, and Aziraphale limped to his side. He touched the red hair, and realized Crowley has a substantial head wound. He needed help, or he was not going to make it. He glanced to his class mates, and saw a group of roughly twenty people plus two instructors just staring at him. Well. The cat was certainly out of the bag, wasn’t it?

“Does anyone have a blanket I can use?” Aziraphale asked softly. “I need to get him home so I can help him.”

The groundskeeper arrived in moments with a quilt, and Aziraphale carefully wrapped Crowley in it. Demon blood would not kill him, but enough of it on his skin would result in festering lesions. He needed his hands functional. He manage to get to his feet with Crowley in his arms, and began heading for the Bentley. Someone opened the car door for him, he wasn’t sure who. Then he put Crowley down on the back seat before getting into the front behind the wheel.

He wasn’t sure how he got home. All he knew was he had a bleeding demon on their bed and he was doing his level best to fix him, ignoring his own wounds for the moment. There was a substantial amount of running back and forth, bandaging, consulting books, creating medical devices out of thin air, and frequent hand-washing to avoid having too much of Crowley’s blood on him. 

Somebody summoned those demons...

Days went by. A video of Crowley fighting the demons went viral on YouTube, but it was merely praised as incredibly realistic CGI. No one believed it was actual footage of a demon fight, and the few classmates who insisted it was real were largely not believed.

Azalea came by after about a week had passed, carrying a casserole and wearing a nervous expression. Aziraphale let her in and made them some tea, then seated them both in the parlor where he would be close to Crowley without disturbing him.

“How is he?” Azalea asked quietly.

Aziraphale shook his head. “Sick, damaged, running a fever, wounds infecting repeatedly...I need a doctor but where would I find one? “Oh hello! My boyfriend happens to be a supernatural being, can you help him?” I mean who would listen to such a thing?”

“What is he, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Ah.” Aziraphale squirmed in discomfort. “Well he’s...a type of angel. Very rare. One of a kind you might say.”

“He didn’t manage to take a slight trip on the ‘down’ escalator, did he?”

“So what if he did?” demanded Aziraphale, becoming openly hostile for perhaps the first time in his life. “He has given me nothing but adoration, and this is what it gets him! Do you know what those monsters were with which we were fighting? Those were elder demons. They do not roam the earth making trouble. They have to be either summoned, or sent. Somebody intentionally sent those things...” He suddenly found himself sobbing into his hands. “He’s not even waking up! I haven’t slept in days, I can’t seem to stop the infections or find the cause... and I have no one to call. They don’t make demon-doctors you know.”

“I’m sorry,” said Azalea. “I wish I could help but I’m not sure what I can do. Do you have medicines? Antibiotics? I’m afraid I know less about this situation than you do.”

“Thank you, I have those things. What I need is to stop the infections.”

“Is it possible there is dirt in the wounds? That would certainly keep an infection going.”

“There may be something I missed. I’ll have to...”

The sound was incredible. The very walls vibrated with the force, causing their tea cups to shatter. It was the sound of a demon screaming in terror. Aziraphale never moved so fast in his life getting to Crowley’s side.

“I’m here, I’m here, don’t worry. I’m right here with you.”

Aziraphale pretended not to hear his new friend’s gasp of horror at how bad Crowley looked; he was not pretty. His face was swollen and strange colours from the beating, and Aziraphale had been forced to put some stitches in. Aziraphale held him tightly.

“I’m here. It’s okay. Don’t be scared.”

“Angel?”

“Yes, your angel is here.”

“You’re safe?”

“I’m just fine. I’m going to look after you until you’re better.”

“I can’t move my wing.”

“It’s a little broken,” said Aziraphale, glancing at the mangled mess. “I had to splint it.”

“You’re okay?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale kissed his brow. “And you will be too. Just rest.”

Morphine eased the pain, and Aziraphale began opening wounds and cleaning them. Azalea stayed and helped, doing her best not to gag as she tossed reeking bandages into a covered trash bin. By the time she was getting ready to go, it was late.

“If you need me, feel free to call,” she said, taking Aziraphale's hand. “Take a nice bath, loot your boyfriend’s clearly well-stocked wine cellar, and breathe. You can’t help him if you are a complete mess yourself.”

“Yes. You are quite right. Thank you, Azalea.”

She squeezed his hand, then left. Aziraphale went off to take her advice.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The days ground by slowly. Cowley seemed to be improving, but it was very much an uphill battle fought against pain and infection. Days of intense study taught Aziraphale how to properly repair the badly broken wing. But as he removed the bandage, maggots tumbled out of the wound. Not normal maggots, but ones that were clearly of hellish origins. Tweezers and a glass of holy water took care of them, and then the enormous wing-bones were cleaned, shards of bone removed, plates and screws put into place, and finally the skin was sewn back over all. As he finished he sat back with a feeling of satisfaction, and noticed the serpent’s eyes gazing back at him.

“Well hello. How are you?” Aziraphale asked softly.

Crowley just blinked sleepily, clearly not certain about anything. He was very sick and heavily sedated, and he seemed to understand that to some degree. Aziraphale kissed him. 

“You have to get well, Crowley. Without you, people are using their cell phones with impunity. It’s terrible!”

A faint smile touched Crowley’s lips, and Aziraphale kissed him again. Then he heard the doorbell ring. 

“I’ll be right back.”

Crowley blinked. “Don’t let them in if they’re furry. Because the green ones bite.”

“Yes I know darling.” Aziraphale closed the door to the bedroom. “I really have to watch how much morphine I give him.”

Aziraphale went to the door and opened it, curious as to who was arriving in the early evening. He was delighted to see Azalea standing before him. Then he saw the six nuns with whom she was standing, and began to feel nervous. 

“Oh hello, Azalea, and hello to you, sisters. Please come in. Make yourselves at home.”

The nuns scooted inside in a flurry, and Aziraphale caught one giggling “This is so exciting!” as she scurried by. He stared at Azalea, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. 

“This isn’t entirely my fault,” she said.

“Really.” 

“Can I explain?”

“Oh please do, I’m dying to hear why you thought it was a great idea to bring six nuns over to visit a heavily sedated demon.”

“Do demons drink tea?” one nun inquired giddily. 

“This one does. I’ll make some,” said Aziraphale. 

He closed the door and went to the kitchen, Azalea following after him. As Aziraphale started the tea, Azalea began to explain. 

“I work at the convent part time, doing odd jobs for the nuns. Well Sister Beatrice saw the YouTube video of Crowley fighting those monsters, then noticed I was in the background, and... well...”

“And what did you say about my darling?”

“I said he was a fallen angel but he was working his way back up the ladder.” She gazed pleadingly at Aziraphale. “I made them swear not to tell a soul. I’m so sorry Aziraphale, I didn’t tell them, they just...sort of found out.”

“They’re not going to pray over him, are they? In his condition he won’t be able to tolerate it! Holy prayer may well kill him!”

“No I said he was still too far down the ladder to be able to tolerate prayer. I’m so sorry, they mean no harm, they just really wanted to...”

Crowley roared, shaking the apartment. 

“See him,” finished Azalea weakly.

Aziraphale glared, then handed her the tea canister. “I don’t know how the sisters like their tea. Crowley likes his strong with nothing in it. Now if you will excuse me I have to go see which sister was just eaten.”

Aziraphale went to the bedroom, and found the sisters outside the door, but not in the room. So whatever Crowley had roared at, it likely was not them. Aziraphale went in first, and found his beloved bleary and weak, but intact.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly. 

“I had a dream that a dog was biting me, and when I went to slap it, I clobbered the wound on my leg.”

“You poor darling. Well are you up for company?”

“Yours?”

“Well yes, me, Azalea, and six nuns.”

Crowley stared at him. “Who in Hell invited six nuns over to meet me? You know what? Never mind. Can’t be worse than five elder demons.” He paused in thought. “They’re not going to pray over me are they?” Pause. “They’re not green are they?”

“No they are not green, they are not here to pray, and... Azalea.”

“How nice.”

“I can ask them to leave, if...?”

“No it’s fine. I have to say I’m morbidly curious. But if they start doing some ritual involving two priests and a can of pea soup...”

“I will be here to save you.”

“All right. Release the penguins.”

Aziraphale returned to the nuns outside the door. Azalea had joined them, with everything for a proper tea set out on a two hundred year old tea service. He cleared his throat. 

“Now please hear me out. There is to be NO praying. However well intended. He is a demon, he is terribly ill. Prayer will kill him at this point, and if it doesn’t, congratulations, you have just inflicted great harm on a six thousand year old demon who STILL to this day has a personal grudge against Dante Alighieri, for reasons I am not quite clear on. So he will remember you. Please do not pray over him, for him, or about him.”

“We swear,” said the head nun, and the others nodded. Then one nun stepped forward and asked politely; “What sort of a demon is he?”

Aziraphale wasn’t entirely certain what “breed” of demon Crowley was, but he knew what Crowley was best at. 

“He specializes in temptation. And he’s good at it. Trust me on that. Oh – he’s also on a substantial amount of morphine and a little addled, so...he may not be entirely lucid.”

With that, he allowed the sisters to enter the room, followed by Azalea. Crowley was sitting up, one black wing in a cast, the other partly extended to help keep him steady. He hadn’t bothered to put on his sunglasses, and his eyes were positively glazed.

Yup. Too much morphine.

“So,” said Crowley, “who do I thank for this charming visit?”

“That would be Azalea!” said the nun who seemed to be in charge of the group.

“Oh indeed?” Crowley took Azalea’s hand, kissed it, smiled, and said something she didn’t understand before turning back to the nuns. Azalea leaned close to Aziraphale.

“What did he just say?”

“Oh, that was Latin for “When I feel better I am going to hurt you”.”

Her eyes became large. “He’s not going to end my life and drag me to Hell, is he?”

“Oh no, Crowley really doesn’t do violence.”

“Well thank goodness for that.”

“But good luck finding your mail for the next six months.”

“Oh...”

Aziraphale turned to his guests and lover, only to find Crowley trying to sort out his one functioning wing and not quite managing to get it under control. He nearly clobbered himself with it until Aziraphale came over to help him. 

“Flapping may be a little advanced for you right now,” he said, tucking the wing in close to Crowley’s back. 

“Bloody thing’s possessed...” he grumbled. Crowley looked at the cup of tea he was offered by Azalea. “If I can’t work my own wing, what makes you think I can work a cup of tea?”

“You just need to wait for the morphine to clear your system,” said Aziraphale.

“No I think I like this.” The black wing popped forth again. “Look at this, I’m a bloody one winged angel.” He listened. “I think I hear a choir in the distance...”

“You’re looking much better than the last time I saw you,” said Azalea.

“Yes well I’d just had my skull staved in by five elder demons, I probably looked like an uncooked meat ball.”

“Forgive me, what is an elder demon?”

Crowley looked blearily toward the nun. “And you are...?”

“Sister Beatrice. These are Sister Agnes, Sister Mary, Sister Agatha, Sister Astrid, and Sister Margret.”

“Charmed I’m sure. Well an elder demon is a monstrous being that pre-dates everything. Even the garden of Eden. They were here before anybody else even bothered being here. And they do not roam the Earth looking for trouble. They must be summoned. Probably by some fourteen year old zit-and-angst riddled twerp with a bottle of cheap booze and a copy of ‘So You Want to Piss off a Large Supernatural Entity’. Why is it when one of our kind gets summoned, it is almost NEVER by somebody who is actually prepared to call up a demon? It’s always some under-aged Goth with bad makeup and no clear grasp of their own mortality.”

“Oh dear that must be terribly annoying,” said Sister Agnes, as Sister Beatrice tried discreetly to get Crowley’s wing out of her face.

“It is! I’m terribly busy, I have temptation to spread. We have a quota, you know.” He blinked. “Of course I could just wear my black snake skin trousers and go by the bar on 31st Street...”

“That would stir up a lot of temptation,” agreed Aziraphale. 

Sister Beatrice had resorted to simply hanging onto the wing to stop it from poking her. Sister Mary reached over to pet it, delighting in the ethereal softness. Crowley seemed addled and oblivious, and it was clear the short visit had exhausted him. Aziraphale gently shooed everyone out of the room, then seated himself on the bed, gazing at Crowley. 

“Are you all right?”

Crowley slowly shook his head. “No. Not especially. I just want to sleep and I want you here beside me.”

“You’re badly hurt. If I’m beside you I could...”

Crowley gave him the most mournful look Aziraphale had ever seen in his life, and he folded. “All right, but we have to be careful. You’re very fragile.”

“You’ll love me if I never get better, won’t you?”

The sheer desperation in the question turned Aziraphale's guts into a ball of acid. Crowley had always been more open about being in love, and whatever sort of demon he may be, he had always made it powerfully clear that he loved his angel. To see him reduced to this level of insecurity made Aziraphale hope he never found out who sent those demons. He knelt beside the bed and looked into drugged, fevered eyes.

“Crowley I will always love you. Always. There are no conditions on that. I don’t care if your wing falls off, or if you are bedridden. We walked too long a road to be together to let a few scrapes and bangs make a difference.”

“What about the head injury?”

“It doesn’t change a thing. Now let me say goodbye to our guests, and I will be right back.”

Crowley nodded, then reached under the covers and pulled out a feather. “Here. For Sister Mary.”

Aziraphale took the feather and presented it to the nun, who was clearly thrilled to bits.

“Is that going to burst into flames the moment it enters the convent?” asked Sister Beatrice, eyeing the feather warily. 

“I make no promises,” said Aziraphale. “There is a good soul inside him. Just don’t tell him that.”

The nuns left, as did Azalea. Aziraphale went into the bedroom to find Crowley waiting, his body shaking with fever and illness, clearly desperate for his angel to return. Aziraphale changed into his usual nightshirt, and got into bed beside him. They cuddled close, holding one another, and Aziraphale listened to Crowley sigh quietly before falling asleep.

Somebody sent those demons. And if Aziraphale ever found out who, well...he wouldn’t be polite.

The next morning there was a short funny bit on the news about a small fire in a nunnery.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The oldest known nativity was set up by St. Francis of Assisi in 1233, and featured only animals to represent the stable where Jesus was born. The rest of the cast, Mary, Joseph, Jesus, the wise men, and the occasional random angel or drummer boy, were added at a later date.**

Aziraphale woke late, blinking at the new day. He looked to Cowley, and smiled rather sadly at him; Crowley was heavily asleep, breathing deeply, his skin grey and his eyes rimmed with black. Aziraphale kissed his brow, hearing Cowley make a tiny, almost inquisitive sound. Aziraphale carefully slipped out of bed, then went to shower and change and start his day. There were things he needed to get done, and topping the list was looking into any information he could find about elder demons. Maybe if he knew more about them, he could stop the recurring infections.

He walked into his library, setting his tea down on the desk before going to the windows to open the curtains. Then he turned back to look around the room in sunlight, and froze.

Blood. Everywhere.

Aziraphale had known he had blood on him as he was running back and forth the night he bandaged Crowley, but the sheer volume of it horrified him. Drips and drops and smears and trails... it stained books and tables and the furnishings... how had he not realized there was so much of it? But he had been quite preoccupied trying to save Crowley’s life, hadn’t he?

Aziraphale picked up a book and gazed at it, seeing his own fingerprints on the cover in his lover’s blood. There was more blood on the pages...how had he not noticed it all? Then he felt a knot in his gut as he thought of something, and he ran to a table where he had a pile of medical texts, still waiting to be sorted back onto their shelves. And at the bottom of the pile was a gift from Crowley; a signed copy of a first edition 1843 ‘A Christmas Carol’ by Charles Dickens. Crowley had written on the fly leaf “For my Angel”. It devalued the book but that was hardly the point – this was the gift that Crowley had given him that finally brought it home to Aziraphale that the demon was in love with him. For Crowley to search high and low for the book, pay for it honestly and without trickery, and present it to Aziraphale on Christmas Eve... Aziraphale knew this was more than a gift from a friend. And now, forgotten beneath the texts Aziraphale used to save Crowley’s life, the pages were stained, Dickens’ name was all but obscured, and the inscription in Crowley’s fine hand was gone. Crowley would be devastated the book had been ruined, because he would know what it meant to Aziraphale. And Aziraphale was gutted that it had been ruined through an act of horrible violence against someone he loved so deeply.

He clutched the book to his chest like a beloved pet and began sobbing his heart out. Why couldn’t people just leave them alone? What was so hard about it? Why did they have to hurt them, hurt Crowley? It was just so damned...mean.

There came a knock at the door. Aziraphale wiped his eyes with the palm of one hand, sniffling, as he held his book with the other. He glanced at the cuckoo clock on the wall. Nearly 11AM. Well not too early for visitors. He set down his beloved book and walked to the door, getting his emotions under control. He opened the door...and gazed at a collection of nuns.

“This isn’t entirely our fault,” said Sister Beatrice.

Good grief, was that some sort of long-running Catholic joke?

“I’m sure it’s not,” said Aziraphale. “Please come in.”

The nuns entered the apartment, and then two more figures appeared before him, looking rather nervous. Gabriel and Michael. Aziraphale fought an urge to slap the both of them. He forgot his outrage at their appearance when a third party leaned into the frame; none other than Beelzebub.

“What are you doing here?” asked Aziraphale, genuinely puzzled.

“Shits and giggles,” said the Lord of Flies, who was munching from what appeared to a paper sack holding popcorn.

Oh well that couldn’t be good. Aziraphale looked back to Gabriel and Michael. “And why exactly are you two here?”

“That would be my doing,” said a clear, calm voice.

A figure dressed and draped in blue and white appeared before him. Her expression was one of profound peace, and her eyes were a luminous silvery blue. This was none other than Divina, possibly the most holy and revered of all archangels. She was known to very few, as her duties lay with helping the Holy Virgin with whatever tasks needed doing. She appeared on Earth rarely, and always in disguise. To have her appear in his doorway meant something enormous was about to happen.

“Please do come in, Lady, forgive my manners.”

“You are forgiven,” she said softly. Her eyes appeared to look at nothing, and her tone was that of someone distracted. Well being used as a sort of divine microscope with which to observe ants for the Virgin was bound to have some side effects.

He stepped aside to permit everyone entry, leading them to the parlor. Guests were seated, tea was served, and as the light shone in through the stained glass windows, Aziraphale asked nervously what the reason was for the visit.

“Shits and giggles,” repeated Beelzebub.

“Well I know your reason,” said Aziraphale, “But I was asking the lady.”

Divina stared into nothing, her tone still soft and distracted. “A demon fought for an angel. The angel wept for the demon. A nun prayed for them both.”

Well that explained the not-entirely-our-fault bit. Divina continued.

“These are powerful things that have not happened before. They have attracted the attention of powerful forces. I was sent to look into the situation.”

Crap.

“I’m afraid I started it,” said Sister Mary. “I and the other sisters just felt so terrible for poor Mr. Crowley, well...once we reached the convent we did pray for him.”

“And your nice feather burst into flames,” said Sister Agatha.

“And then... well...Lady Divina appeared, and...asked us for whom we prayed,” said Sister Beatrice.

“Well we couldn’t lie!” said Sister Margret.

“I see, certainly not,” said Aziraphale. He then looked to Gabriel and Michael. “And why exactly are you two here?”

“They are here at my request,” said Divina. “They have much to answer for.”

Oh really? Could it possibly be that Heaven’s two most arrogant archangels were about to get a bit of a dressing down? Beelzebub watched in silence, munching popcorn, clearly wishing to be the fly on the wall, as it were, of what went down. Gabriel shifted uncomfortably, then admitted something very quietly.

“We sent the demons.”

There were gasps all around. Except from Beelzebub, who looked very much amused. Sister Beatrice asked a question on everybody’s minds.

“How could you do such a thing?”

“I had to do something!” Gabriel declared defensively. “I couldn’t let the situation continue with those two...fornicating like animals! It’s disgraceful! And the way they would laugh and carry on while they did it was...”

Gabriel froze. One could almost see a thought balloon with the word “Whoops” in it displayed above his head. Beelzebub was grinning, slowly munching popcorn. Aziraphale leaned forward, staring at Gabriel.

“How would you know if we laugh while making love?”

Gabriel flushed a violent red colour. “I..may have...accidentally of course...”

“He was in your closet,” said Beelzebub.

“IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!”

“His pants were around his ankles.”

“THEY WERE NOT!”

“He has a stubby.”

“YOU MONSTROUS LITTLE...”

This apparently was the “shits-and-giggles” portion of the show. Aziraphale stared at Gabriel, his body trembling with barely controlled rage.

“Gabriel I am going to do the biggest favour I can for you. I will not tell Crowley you hid in the closet and watched us...together.”

“I am not afraid of your little pet.”

“Well if you had any common sense you would be because one word from me and he will easily transform into something quite capable of spewing Hell fire and venom.”

“I am not afraid of some nitwit demon who managed to get himself labelled a traitor to Hell, AND who managed to fall from grace BY ACCIDENT.”

“Bring forth your demon,” said Divina softly.

“No,” said Aziraphale sharply, startling himself and those gathered. “Forgive me but he is in a very fragile state.”

“He will not be harmed,” said Divina softly. “Do not fear.”

“I don’t like this, he was very badly injured, and...”

Crowley roared, shaking the apartment. Aziraphale set his tea cup down rather forcefully in vexation.

“There! Do you see what they did? They took a perfectly good demon and made him neurotic.”

Aziraphale excused himself to go to their bedroom and see if Crowley was all right, leaving six nuns, three archangels, and the Lord of Flies to ponder his words.

“Well,” said Sister Astrid. “There’s a phrase you don’t hear every day.”

Aziraphale entered the bedroom to find Crowley sitting up, looking grey and bleary.

“I felt a tremendous shift in the Force,” he said.

“Six nuns and three archangels will do that,” said Aziraphale. “They’d like to see you.”

“Give me one good reason why I should fall out of bed and go talk to them.”

“Well one of them is Divina, and we’d like to make a good impression. Beelzebub is here too, for reasons unknown to me. I wonder if those poor little nuns have the first idea who they are with.”

Crowley grumbled. “If they break into “Climb Every Mountain”...”

“Then you open the window and I’ll throw.”

After a brief while, Aziraphale appeared, carefully leading Crowley. He was dressed in a black and silver kimono with red accents, his iconic shades, and black furry demon-bunny slippers.

“How are you feeling?” asked Sister Agnes, as Aziraphale helped Crowley to sit.

“Like I’ve died and gone to church.”

“Oh,” she said. Meanwhile Sister Beatrice was staring at Beelzebub.

“Wherever did you find that awful hat?”

Beelzebub munched popcorn. “Hot Topic.”

“Well you’ll never meet a nice boy wearing that on your head.”

“Don’t worry. I meet a lot of nice boys.”

‘And drag them to Hell,’ thought Aziraphale.

“Why exactly are you here?” Crowley asked Beelzebub.

“To see the look on your face when you find out...”

“Sisters,” said Divina softly, “would you please leave us for a few minutes?”

The nuns nodded and rose to their feet, uncertain as to where they should go in what was not their house. Aziraphale offered a suggestion.

“If you go straight down the hall to the last door, you can see our collection of Renaissance-era Italian art and sculpture. Oh! And help yourselves to the sherry.”

The nuns departed, and Crowley gave Aziraphale a puzzled look.

“Not the library? You love your library.”

“It’s a bit of a mess right now.”

“Yeah,” said Beelzebub. “A right bloody mess.”

Crowley was becoming irritated. “Look I’m not well so if we could get on with this..?”

Divina spoke. “Gabriel and Michael have committed transgressions against you which have caused them to come under Heaven’s scrutiny. I did not wish to discuss this before the sisters as they do not know with whom they sit. They know I am an angel, and Crowley is a demon. All others they assume to be mortal. But back to the topic at hand, Michael and Gabriel are here to apologize.”

“Well what did they do?” asked Crowley. “I mean specific to this instance.”

“Watched you and your pudding-pop there make little demon-angel hybrids while pulling their stubbies,” said Beelzebub.

Aziraphale tightened his hold on Crowley, who was beginning to become very warm as the hell fire began to boil up. Gabriel actually looked nervous as Crowley focused on him like a starving shark.

“Didn’t we agree not to mention that?” Gabriel snapped, watching Crowley as the demon began to seethe and snarl.

“No, Aziraphale said he wouldn’t mention it, and he didn’t,” said Beelzebub. “Just like he never mentioned you had your little crony punch him.”

Aziraphale, Gabriel, and Michael began to cough as Crowley exuded a reek that simply could not be properly described; something like death mixed with brimstone and oily diarrhea from a decomposing snake. Crowley was pissed, and the only thing keeping him from leaping for Gabriel’s throat was his poor health. But Aziraphale knew that Crowley would get Gabriel at some point, and do a lot more than hide his mail. This was not Crowley the Accidentally-Fallen who Wasn’t Much on Violence. This was a fully enraged demon. He made a strange hissing snarling growl, like something from every horror movie ever made, and his eyes burned with a flaming glow.

“You hit my angel....” he snarled.

Normally Gabriel would try to deflect blame, or at least minimize it. This time he was frozen in terror as the Serpent of the Garden breathed hate at him. Aziraphale tried to calm Crowley to absolutely no avail. Finally he looked to Divina.

“I don’t think he’s going to get over this.”

“He was wronged,” said Divina. “There are rules set in place in Heaven as in Hell. Rules of war and engagement. Crowley broke none, nor did you. Wanting love and companionship is normal, even if your choices were...unexpected. But you violated no law. Love will stop more wars than distrust, jealousy, envy, and pride. All of these things Gabriel and Michael displayed. Therefore they must relearn their humility. We thought they could begin by restoring your beloved library.”

Crowley spat a line of venom at Gabriel, missing by millimeters. Aziraphale patted his shoulder.

“Don’t do that, darling, you might hit the couch.” Aziraphale looked to Divina. “I thank you for your generous offer, but to be perfectly honest I neither trust them in my library, nor do I want them there. However I do believe Beelzebub has had a horrible time getting Hell’s accounting department in order. Zombies are just not the best at this sort of job.”

“Boy that’s the truth,” muttered Beelzebub.

“Very well. Gabriel and Michael are sentenced to Hell’s accounting department until such time as they learn humility. But that still leaves the question of your books.”

The word “books” seemed to permeate Crowley’s rage-filled brain, and he looked to Aziraphale. “What about your books?”

Aziraphale immediately broke into tears and explained what happened to the books, including his beloved copy of A Christmas Carol. Crowley slowly turned his head to stare at Gabriel once more, and Aziraphale felt waves of hate wash off his lover – pure, unbridled, laser-focused hate. After an eternity, he turned his attention back to Aziraphale.

“Why did you not tell me?”

“Because I knew what you would do to him and I couldn’t bear to see you punished.”

Crowley kissed his temple, then looked to Beelzebub. “So is Satan’s toilet still broken?”

“Ever since that party celebrating the birth of the Antichrist,” said Beelzebub.

“It would be nice if someone were to fix that for him,” said Crowley.

“It would be a very friendly gesture,” agreed Aziraphale.

Gabriel and Michael wore matching expressions of horror. “You cannot mean...”

“Surely we can,” said Aziraphale.

“None in Heaven are above humble tasks,” said Divina.

“But Satan’s toilet?!” exclaimed Michael. “That’s a few steps below washing the feet of lepers! What does Jesus say about this...punishment?”

Divina spoke in her quiet, distracted way. “He assures you that He shall reply when He stops laughing.”

Gabriel turned sharply to Aziraphale and Crowley. “This is not over you two...”

“It is over,” said Divina. “Your endless obsession with Aziraphale and his demon is over. The desires they share are peaceful and innocent; love, good food, books, wine...they have no quarrel with you. Yet you bring strife to their door for reasons that not even you comprehend. You summoned ancient evil to harm them, and for what? Your own selfish pride. You will end this, or be cast down. Beelzebub, you may take Gabriel and Michael when you so choose.”

“Wait, before you do,” said Aziraphale, “I have one question. Why exactly were you two in my closet?”

Silence. Gabriel and Michael looked distinctly uncomfortable. Slowly the horrible truth dawned on Aziraphale.

“You were there to hurt Crowley. You are the reason his injuries kept reinfecting.”

They did not respond. Silently they allowed Beelzebub to lead them away. Then Lady Divina quietly departed as well. Aziraphale sat staring at nothing, trying to comprehend something so ugly. Then he felt Crowley nuzzle him lightly.

“Forget them, Angel.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just having a profoundly disturbing realization.”

“What would that be?”

Aziraphale looked to Crowley. “That if they killed you I would have done all in my power to destroy them in the ugliest manner possible.”

Crowley smiled and kissed him. “There’s my brave pudding-pop.”

“I am serious!”

“I know you are. But we needn’t worry about that now. And I’m exhausted. Why don’t you and the sisters have a nice lunch...”

“Oh I’m far too upset to cook.”

“Just miracle something up, relax, have a little too much wine, talk about angel and nun things, and when I wake up, we will have boring vanilla sex.”

“I’m not sure you are well enough for sex, Crowley.”

“I’m well enough to try, and likely fall asleep halfway through. What do you say?”

Aziraphale touched his face. “All right.”

“There’s my angel.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Aziraphale enjoyed lunch with the nuns, then after they left, he cleaned up and had a long soak in the bath, leaving the door open in case Crowley screamed. He didn’t. Then about 7PM Aziraphale was considering waking Crowley ask if he was hungry when there was a quiet knock at the door. He went to answer it, and saw before him four children and a little black and white dog. Before he could say anything, Adam spoke.

“Is Crowley okay?”

“We saw the YouTube video,” said Pepper. “It looked awful.”

“We were worried,” said Brian.

Aziraphale let the children and dog inside. “He will be fine,” said Aziraphale. “He’s badly hurt and quite weak but he is getting better. Now – how on earth did you get here?”

“We told our parents we were going to camp in the woods for the night,” said Brian, “then we took the bus here.”

“We would have been here sooner,” said Wensleydale, “but we had to set up camp so it looked like we were camping in the woods.”

“We discovered we’re pretty terrible at it,” said Pepper. The other children nodded.

“I see. Well you have to stay here for tonight, I can’t be sending you back out at this hour. So – get yourselves cleaned up, there are pajamas and things in the guest room, and I’ll make dinner.”

“When can we see Crowley?” asked Adam.

“After dinner. I have to change some of his bandages then, and he’ll be awake.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Crowley was not awake. He was the exact opposite of awake, and clearly had no plans on changing that any time soon. He had a lot of healing to do, and the meeting with Divina and the others had exhausted him. He had also taken a substantial amount of pain medication as well, likely to force himself to rest and relax rather than focus on what he would like to do to Gabriel and Michael. Adam and his friends pondered the massive black wing that rose far above their heads. For some reason, cleaning the injuries on the one wing caused the other to rise.

“I wouldn’t stand under that,” said Aziraphale. “It tends to flap.”

“Is that new?” inquired Wensleydale. “I don’t think he had that the last time we saw him.”

“He did,” said Aziraphale, “he just didn’t have it out. And he can’t put it away until both are healed.”

“I thought demons had bat wings,” said Pepper.

“Depends on the demon.”

Aziraphale changed bandages, noticing that the wounds looked considerably better, and Crowley’s persistent fever was minimal. He was finally healing. Then there were children to tuck into beds in the newly-decorated child’s guestroom that just happened to miraculously appear. And finally, he fed the dog and tidied up before pouring himself a very large glass of wine. With Dog on his lap, he sipped the icy-cold apple wine, permitting himself to be upset and outraged.

How dare they. How dare Gabriel and Michael do something so ugly. They should honestly be sent to Hell permanently for that.

He finished the wine, set Dog in a doggy bed that miraculously happened to be there, then wove his way to the bedroom. Once there he paused to look at Crowley; his dearest and most beloved friend, who would do anything for his angel. But... the longer he gazed, the more he realized something was a bit off. Were there feet poking out from beneath the wing...?

Aziraphale stepped forward, carefully taking hold of the wing and raising it. There, curled on his side, was Adam, sound asleep.

“Well,” said Aziraphale softly. “I think we’re not making love tonight.”

He noticed something to his right, and turned his head to look into the large open walk-in closet. Well, news must have spread quickly about Gabriel and Michael’s misdeeds, because there were no less than five angels inside. Three had opera glasses, one had a notebook and pen, and one, Maria, had a microphone. All five were positively giddy.

“Tonight! On ‘Wonders of Nature’!” Maria stage-whispered into her microphone, “we observe the mating behaviour of Aziraphale and Crowley!”

Aziraphale raised the wing he was holding a little higher to reveal what was beneath. “Er... not tonight, I’m afraid. Why don’t you go observe two archangels trying to teach accounting to zombies?”

The giggling five vanished. Aziraphale lowered the wing, changed into his nightshirt, and slipped beneath the covers. He pressed himself against Crowley’s back, and sighed blissfully as he drifted into sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The months went by. Crowley slowly healed, and eventually he could go on short walks with Aziraphale. The damage done to him by the elder demons had left its mark, but would fade in time. Walks at first were rather depressing; Crowley would barely dress, and he didn’t care how he looked. But as the pain faded and his body began to work once more, that changed. He began dressing in waistcoats and long flowing greatcoats, a black cane sporting the silver head of a serpent in his left hand, his right arm through Aziraphale's as they strolled through the city.

“It’s so good seeing you looking better,” said Aziraphale.

“It’s good to be feeling a bit better. I was a little...displeased with life for a while.”

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley’s reflection as they strolled past a shop window. He was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. His auburn hair was longer, and the clothes he wore gave him the air of being a Victorian gentleman; perhaps even Dracula, come for his Mina. Between the black glasses and the long hair and the coat and the cane...

“Angel if you get anymore excited, you’re going to need a bucket of ice water.”

“Oh sorry. It’s just...well it is good to see you looking so... lovely.”

“I don’t like feeling this weak.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve come a long way. You were very badly injured, Crowley, and now look at you! You’re...”

“The limp turns you on, doesn’t it?”

“Crowley I am so happy to see you dressed and on your feet that everything about you is turning me on. I was...very frightened for a time that you...would leave me. I cried an awful lot of tears. And your wing is healed enough you can put it away. I’m just so happy to see you recovering.”

“But you do like the limp and the longer hair.”

“If you must know I think you’re hot sex on toast.”

“Will you still love me without the limp?”

“I’d love you if the whole leg fell off.”

Crowley seemed pleased, and Aziraphale was only too happy to boost Crowley’s ego a bit. He could be surprisingly sensitive at times...

“Enjoying the Christmas decorations?”

And astute.

“Yes,” Aziraphale admitted in a small voice. “But it’s all right, we...don’t have to decorate for Christmas.”

“Even though it’s our first Christmas as a couple, and as an angel you are positively bursting with desire to start firing tinsel and sugar plum fairies in all directions.”

Waaaaayyyyy too astute. He looked up at Crowley.

“Well...could we?”

“Just...try to limit the holy images to a few select rooms so I don’t end up spending the holidays feeling like I’m being prodded with hot pokers. The only thing I want prodding me is you.”

“Oh Crowley...”

“But next year you’re letting me do Halloween.”

“By all means. I’ll help. What about Easter?”

“Fine but I’m not wearing the bunny costume.”

“That’s all right, I’m more of a bunny shape anyway.”

Crowley kissed his temple. In the background, somebody screamed “FAGGOTS!” Then he began screaming something else entirely as his pants burst into flames.

“Can we have a party?” asked Aziraphale, as a man with flaming pants ran in circles with helpful bystanders lobbing ice cold water at his groin.

“How large a party?”

“Oh not too large. You, me, the sisters, Azalea, maybe a few others. That nice family across the hall who made all that perfectly revolting food I ended up hiding in the garden and not even the rats would eat it.”

“Only if they swear not to cook.”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how fond you are of their daughter,” Aziraphale gently chastised.

Crowley grinned. “I adore three-year-olds, they’re so delightfully amoral.”

“Takes one to know one, dear.”

They paused outside of a shop, gazing in at a dragon’s horde of glittering objects. Aziraphale looked to Crowley, who backed up slightly.

“Bit too holy for me, angel. Why don’t you shop, and when you’re done, meet me at the cafe across the street.”

“All right.”

There was a soft kiss, then Crowley went across the street, and Aziraphale watched.

He was so damn lovely.

Forcing himself to look away, he entered the shop and immediately picked up a basket. Christmas was going to be extra special this year. As he browsed the aisles, he heard two of the sales staff talking.

“Oh that is so cute, did you see that?”

“What?”

“The chubby guy’s boyfriend waited until he was in the shop, then instead of going into the cafe like he said he would, he went into the antique shop next to it.”

“Ooooh somebody’s getting a surprise for Christmas! Maybe some vintage jewelry?”

Jewelry? Hardly. Aziraphale didn’t wear it. Crowley did, but rarely. However he did have some truly spectacular pieces, looted from the finest tombs in the ancient world. He didn’t wear modern pieces.

Aziraphale moved closer to the front of the store to look out the window, and sure enough, there was Crowley emerging from the shop. What was he up to? Demon business, perhaps? Possibly. That would make more sense than buying jewelry for an angel who didn’t wear it.

He was suddenly aware he was being flanked by two people. The three of them stared out the shop window at Crowley.

“What’s he up to?” one woman whispered, as if Crowley might overhear.

“Honestly it could be anything,” said Aziraphale.

“What do you think he’s getting you?”

“I repeat – could be anything.”

“Bit eccentric, is he?”

Aziraphale had no idea how to answer that. The trio scrunched down to spy as a man walked out of the shop holding a truly enormous box. He and Crowley spoke briefly, then the man carried the box to a delivery van. Then, as if sensing he was being watched, he looked to the store with the decorations. Aziraphale and the two women dropped down, giggling.

“Did he see us?” asked Aziraphale.

“Don’t know,” said the second clerk, a younger woman with curling black hair.

“Well we have to look!” said the first woman. Her name tag read ‘Madeline’. “C’mon, Janie, you peek.”

“We’ll all peek,” said Aziraphale. “Come on, we’re brave. On the count of three...”

Slowly the group rose, only for the two shop keepers to drop down giggling as Crowley rose slowly on the other side of the glass.

“Are you spying on me?” Crowley inquired.

“Don’t crouch down like that, you’ll hurt your hip.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I did not spy, I simply noticed you were up to something.”

“And then proceeded to spy.”

Aziraphale scowled at him. “Must you be so astute?”

Crowley blew him a kiss. “I’ll be at the cafe.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“KWOWEE!” screamed three year old Pearl in delight.

“Close enough,” said Crowley.

“YOU LOOK PRETTY!” For some reason, Pearl felt compelled to stand on her toes and shout to communicate.

“Well thank you, so do you. Let’s go be bad.”

“YAAAAAAYYYYY!”

And they were off – a perfectly normal interaction between a six thousand year old demon and his favourite mortal child. Aziraphale offered drinks to her parents.

“Please explain to me why your boyfriend feels the need to teach my child a thousand and one bad habits,” asked Dawna wearly.

“Oh...” said Aziraphale. “Um...well...Oh! Here is my friend Azalea. Azalea, please meet Dawna and Kevin Redmond, they’re little Pearl’s parents.”

“Oh she is such a little cutie,” said Azalea. “Crowley adores her.”

“Yes I know he does, but he really is a bad influence,” said Kevin.

Azalea did a stunning impression of a woman who had absolutely no idea why Crowley would be a bad influence. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.” She then changed the subject. “Speaking of Crowley, how is he feeling these days? Is he recovered?”

“Not entirely,” said Aziraphale. “He’s still a little sore, and sometimes he has nightmares. His left shoulder bothers him quite a bit.”

“Poor dear,” said Azalea.

“Yes,” said Dawna dryly as Pearl and Crowley tore past, clearly up to something that involved baking soda and vinegar. “Poor dear. Aziraphale can you at least...?”

Sister Agatha came up just then. “I’m sorry to bother you but something seems to be burning in the kitchen.”

Thank heavens for nuns. Aziraphale ran off to tend to his dinner rolls while Dawna and Kevin fretted about their daughter’s BFF. At least they weren’t blowing stuff up in the kitchen. And what was so bad about what he showed her? She would be winning prizes at science fairs by the time she was six. Granted the stuff he showed her tended to be gloriously messy, but harmless and non-staining. Kevin and Dawna worried too much.

There was a small “boom”. Crowley and Pearl shot by in the opposite direction.

“Not my fault!” yelled Pearl.

“Not mine either!” yelled Crowley.

“I think I will start monitoring Crowley’s sugar and caffeine intake,” Aziraphale said to himself. He smiled as Azalea appeared to lend a hand.

“So I take it that you and Crowley will not be adopting children,” she said.

“Oh good heavens no. I already have one child, and he’s roughly six thousand years old, shape shifts, spits Hellfire, and shouts at the house plants. What if the next one’s worse?”

Aziraphale paused as he heard someone mention something about Christmas carols. He winced as he heard Crowley say “Oh I know one.”

“Oh good grief,” said Aziraphale. He shook his head and resumed putting the finishing touches on dinner as Crowley burst into song.

“Christmas time is here by golly,  
Disapproval would be folly.  
Deck the halls with hunks of holly,  
Fill the cup and don’t say ‘when’.

Kill the turkeys, ducks and chickens,  
Mix the punch, drag out the Dickens.  
Even though the prospect sickens,  
Brother here we go again.

On Christmas day you can’t get sore,  
Your fellow man you must adore.  
There’s time to rob him all the more  
The other three hundred and sixty four.

Relations sparing no expense’ll  
Send some useless old utensil.  
Or a matching pen and pencil,  
Just the thing I need. How nice.

It doesn’t matter how sincere it is,  
Nor how heartfelt the spirit.  
Sentiment will not endear it,  
What’s important is the price.

So let the raucous sleigh bells jingle,  
Hail our dear old friend Kris Kringle  
Driving his reindeer across the sky.  
Don’t stand underneath when they fly by!”

Azalea looked at Aziraphale. “Lovely singing voice.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Rule one to loving Crowley – expect to be mortified regularly.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dinner was served and eaten, then dessert, then wine was served. Nearly every available surface was covered in cookies and cakes and gingerbread houses. The Christmas tree cast a warm light throughout the room, as did the fire in the hearth. There was laughter and games, and an impromptu jam session when Crowley “just happened” to find a guitar. Then, as Dawna suggested to Kevin that they should probably take Pearl home since it was gettig late and Santa would be coming, Crowley spoke to Kevin.

“Before you leave, can you help me take something out of the den? It’s not heavy, I just can’t use my shoulder.”

Kevin shrugged and nodded, and followed Crowley to the den. A few minutes later they emerged, with Kevin carrying the most beautiful green and gold wrapped box. And it certainly fit the dimensions of the box Aziraphale had seen come out of the antique store. As Kevin set it down carefully on the coffee table, Aziraphale realized the reason Crowley was not carrying it had nothing to do with his shoulder. The item in the box was holy enough to hurt him. Not kill him; but definitely inflict damage. The tag on the box read “To My Angel.”

“Oh my,” said Aziraphale, as Crowley discretely backed away from the thing. Whatever was in the box was making the demon very antsy, but he was determined not to let it run him off.

“Well you’ll have a hard time containing your curiosity about that until morning!” said Sister Beatrice.

“You have to let us know what’s in it when you open it,” said Dawna.

“Or you could open it now,” said Crowley, backing up slightly further. He poured himself a drink and tried very hard to not look like he was standing in a room with something that could seriously harm him.

“Should I?” asked Aziraphale.

“Yes,” said Crowley, even though he looked much the same way he did when he was preparing to have a good molt; ready to climb out of his skin.

Aziraphale began slowly unwrapping the gift, setting aside the gleaming paper and ribbons. Crowley must have had somebody else wrap it, because the last gift Aziraphale got looked like it had been wrapped by a disturbed squirrel.

He opened the box, peered inside, and gasped.

“Oh Crowley...”

Slowly he carefully drew out the pieces to the four hundred year old nativity, revealing each figure to gasps of admiration. The camels of the wise men were slightly worn, but dotted with tiny gems in their harnesses. The star hung above the manger sported tiny fragile rays of gold, and each piece was done meticulously and with love. Crowley watched anxiously.

“You said you’d like one, so...”

Aziraphale was nearly in tears, until he drew out the final piece. This one was new, clearly recently made, but in the style of the older figures. It was an angel, and as Aziraphale peered at it...

“Crowley this angel looks hauntingly familiar.”

“It should, it’s wearing argyle socks.”

Aziraphale glanced at the feet of the angel. It was. It also had on a tiny bow tie. And behind its back, tucked into the sash about its waist was a miniature copy of Aziraphale's favourite cook book. Peeking out of the back of the robe was a small white rabbit; no doubt an homage to Aziraphale’s terrible magic tricks.

“Crowley, this is so.... I have no words. Thank you.”

“There should be one more piece.”

There was; a black serpent with a red belly and yellow eyes, carved to fit `perfectly across the shoulders of the angel. It had its head on the angel’s shoulder, and somehow managed to exude contentment.

“That is a happy little snake,” said Azalea.

“It is,” whispered Crowley.

~*~*~*~*~*~

At last they were alone, seated on the floor before the Christmas tree, drinking wine and gazing at each other. The nativity scene was comfortably tucked away in the library.

“Well,” said Aziraphale. “I think we’re alone now.”

“Does seem to be the case,” said Crowley, leaning close to kiss him.

Aziraphale gently pulled at Crowley’s tie. “Would you like your Christmas gift now?”

“I thought that’s what I was getting.”

“Oh you’ll get that, never fear. But I have a different gift.”

Aziraphale pulled out a small box and handed it to Crowley, who accepted it and looked inside. He gazed at it for a long time.

“Angel...?”

“Please accept it.”

Crowley did, taking the ring out of the box. It was half red gold and half white gold, and featured a serpent twisted into the figure for eternity, backed by a flaming sword.

“I have one too,” said Aziraphale, raising his left hand to show it. “Oh I know there can’t be any ceremony, given our... differences, but this way we have a symbol of what we...”

Crowley pounced on him and shoved his tongue down his throat. Aziraphale kissed him hard in return, then said “So...temptation successful?”

“Take me to bed and fuck me.”

Aziraphale did, where, after a thorough inspection of the closet, they took their time enjoying each other.

“How do Mortals get anything done when they could do this all day?” gasped Aziraphale. He then ground his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut as Crowley let out a haunting, wailing cry laced with very creative expletives and clawed rents in his back. Fangs clamped into Aziraphale’s shoulder, and he decided that he needed to invest in some sort of armor. Fun was fun but a demonic orgasm REALLY hurt. Also it was really rather messy as well. And warm. Was that blood or semen? Oh. Both. Well no time to worry about it!

Aziraphale didn’t like to admit he bit as well, just not as hard and with fewer expletives. Then they embraced on the soiled sheets, panting and sweaty. Crowley was shaking, and Aziraphale could tell it had been a bit too much exertion.

“Let’s do it again,” said Crowley, looking like he was suffering from a catastrophic heroin overdose.

“Ah, let’s rest a bit.”

“Oh, well, if you’re tired,” said Crowley.

“Yes dear.” Aziraphale willed his minor injuries closed, then used a second miracle to clean the sheets. He would have liked to put Crowley in a warm bath but he didn’t think he could walk that far. Instead they just cuddled, then Aziraphale picked up his phone to take a photo of the pair of them, making certain the rings were in the shot.

“Angel, are you being bad?” asked Crowley.

“Yes,” admitted Aziraphale. “I am. And I won’t be sorry.”

He gave Crowley a warm, lingering kiss, making sure to capture it. He then sorted through the photos sent some off to someone.

“There. Naughtiness accomplished. Now, do you want me to help you into the bath?”

“Maybe later, I know how tired you are.”

“Of course dear.”

He held Crowley against his chest, watching him fall asleep. Then he gently kissed his brow.

“This I swear to you,” he said softly. “I will never not love you.”

Crowley made a small sound. Aziraphale drew the covers up over him, then drifted into sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Meanwhile, in the bowels of Hell, Gabriel got a message on his phone. Taking a break from trying to convince a particularly dense zombie not to eat the stapler, he looked at it, and found an assortment of photos – some of Crowley, some of people Gabriel didn’t know, some small child cuddling Crowley, then photos of Aziraphale and Crowley in bed wearing matching rings and smug expressions. Then there was a short video of two nuns, a tall woman in a floral dress, and Crowley all singing “Walk Right In” by Dr. Hook in front of a Christmas tree. Michael had apparently received the same message.

“That is disgusting,” said Michael. “You can almost smell the...emissions.”

“And apparently they are now married,” said Gabriel. “How can this be allowed to go on?”

The door to the office opened, and Beelzebub peered in, chewing gum. “Just wanted to give you a heads up. Tonight is chili and taco night with jalapeno poppers and cabbage rolls. So, uh, make sure you’re on call, because Satan’s toilet is gonna be a mess. Oh – Happy holidays.”

Beelzebub blew a bubble, popped it, then left. Michael and Gabriel stood in the dark, gloomy, damp office, surrounded by zombies eating library paste and stapling paper to their faces, and contemplated having to yet again clean and repair Satan’s toilet.

“On the other hand,” said Michael, “maybe we should just send them a nice card.”


End file.
